


Do What You Have To Do

by Lynds



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Alternative Perspective, Angst with a Happy Ending, Charles pretending he's fine when really he's very fucked up, Dark Charles Xavier, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Lovers, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Human Experimentation, M/M, Machiavelli, Manipulation, Mind Control, Murder, Poor Charles Xavier, Poor Erik Lehnsherr, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, apparently, everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Charles has known since he was very young that he would have to hide who he was and what he could do, always staying a step ahead. However, if he wants to help other mutants, he must stay ten steps ahead of everyone.It's a lonely experience, out there in front, always acting, always hiding, hearing everything and playing the puppet master. Sometimes Charles thinks he can hardly consider himself human anymore.And then Erik comes into his life, turning everything upside down. Perhaps Charles doesn't have to keep everyone away...
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Irene Adler (X-Men)/Raven | Mystique
Comments: 22
Kudos: 64
Collections: X-Men Remix Madness 2020





	1. Ruler (1)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flightinflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Few experience (what you really are)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20425307) by [flightinflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame). 
  * In response to a prompt by [flightinflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame) in the [xmen_remix_madness2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmen_remix_madness2020) collection. 



> This is Charles POV of some of the events in FlightInFlame's incredible Machiavelli-Charles fic! It won't make much sense by itself so I've put the relevant chapter numbers of her fic in the titles of each of mine - go read that first!
> 
> This chapter occurs before the first chapter in Few Experience.

Charles smiled up at Jimmy, trying to hide most of his pride behind his hand as he leaned on his palm. The little boy had his head bent over the chessboard, his brow furrowed, shifting the hateful scars on his scalp. 

He glanced up at Charles, hesitating, then moved his rook. “Check?”

Charles raised his eyebrows, glanced down at the board, then back at Jimmy. 

Jimmy’s smile grew. “Checkmate?”

Charles grinned openly. “Well done, Jimmy, that was excellent.”

“I beat you? Really?”

“You really did. I’m so impressed with your strategies, you’re looking at the whole board, seeing every possible outcome, I can tell by the way your eyes move.”

Jimmy glowed, almost squirming in his seat, and Charles felt that bittersweet warmth spread through his chest. 

Charles didn’t have favourites. He didn’t get attached to the children who passed through his home, and although he was fond of those who had to stay - Anne-Marie, Alex, Scott - he knew better than to think of himself as anything more than a carer - a headmaster perhaps, if he allowed himself a bit of wishful thinking. But not a family.

Jimmy deserved a family. But with Stryker’s scrutiny and regular requests to have Jimmy back, Charles couldn’t risk even trying to find a home to send him to. But he was the sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful little boy, and what remained of Charles’ heart broke when he remembered that the closest Jimmy would ever have to a home would be this cold, echoing mansion.

He pushed his maudlin thoughts to the side and slipped the brake off his chair. “I suppose we’d better get going, hadn’t we?” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Go and grab your book and meet me and Alex out the front by the car.”

“OK,” said Jimmy brightly, and came around the low table to wrap his arms around Charles’ shoulders, squeezing their cheeks together. Charles laughed and hugged him back. One day, he thought. One day Jimmy should have a family, have someone to hug him like this and care for him and love him like he deserved.

Charles ran through his plan for this afternoon’s acquisition as Jimmy trotted off down the corridor. The worst part of it would be how close he would be to Raven, how tempting it would be to turn every mind present to mush and get her out of there. They would find another way.

She would never forgive him, he knew that. He felt the spike of anger at how she’d forced his hand - they’d been talking about a plan like this for months, how Raven could mimic a dead person, how she could work with them to get more people out of Stryker’s hell. He’d thought - no, they’d _agreed_ that they would wait until she was of age.

And then the little shit had gone and staged a coup. How she’d managed to keep it from him, he’d never know. Well, he had a good idea - Raven never thought things through the way she should. She’d probably just seen her chance and gone for it, ‘accidentally’ losing control over her mutation in front of a busy police checkpoint. He could have wrung her neck. Instead, he sold her, his last glimpse of his baby sister a flickering smirk as she’d been pulled away.

He had to trust her. Raven was tough, and she was stubborn, and incredibly talented. He would have to trust her to get to where she needed to go, and replace Laura. Charles had phoned Moira as soon as he’d been in private, and she was ready to make the switch. From there, Raven would have to get to Irene by herself.

Charles swallowed down his rising nausea and wheeled himself out of the elevator on the ground floor, smiling at Alex as he coasted down the ramp to the car. “Showtime, huh?” Alex said, holding Charles’ door open.

“Let’s do it,” Charles said.


	2. Feared (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after chapter 2 of Few Experience. Yeah, Charles is a dumbass!

‘Erik’ was a fucking prick. Charles transferred himself over to his bed and let himself drop backwards, massaging his temples. 

Of course he was traumatised. Of course he was well within his rights to think of Charles the way he did, believing that Charles was a human. And Charles would never hold that against him - it was his right to be angry. 

That didn’t mean Charles had to grin and bear it. He had to pretend it wasn’t happening, of course, but right now, in the privacy of his own room and his own head, he could be as angry as he liked. 

At least the first day was over. Charles sighed and looked towards the photo on his sideboard, the one of himself and Raven as teens. Raven was in her blonde form - it just wasn’t worth the risk, displaying a photograph of an obvious mutant, even in his private space. He felt the dull thrum of panic when he thought of his little sister in the hands of those bastards. She was so young… she had no idea what horrors might be in store for her, what if she couldn’t fight? What if she slipped? What if she didn’t mimic the collar well enough and they put a real one on? 

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and turned back to stare at the roof. At least he had the metal-bender. And, yes, he had to admit, with Raven sneaking in to masquerade as the dead body of the child, everything would be significantly easier. He would have to put his trust in her.

Charles was not used to putting his trust in anyone except for himself.

His mobile rang, and he jumped, scrambling in his pocket. His heart seemed to turn itself inside out when he saw Moira’s caller ID, and he took a moment to compose himself before he answered. “Moira, how are you?”

“Charles, we have her,” she said, her voice low and exhausted. 

He let out a long breath. “Is everyone OK? Any major injuries?”

“She’s… God, I’m sorry Charles, I had to sedate her. She’s wild, and I was worried about the girls, I’m so--”

“It’s fine,” he said firmly. “You do what you have to do to keep the girls safe, I would never expect otherwise.” He closed his eyes a moment. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Raven?”

“She’s right here.”

“Oh thank God,” he breathed in a rush. 

“Here, do you want to speak with her?”

There was a rustling on the line, and then Raven’s voice. “Charles?”

The relief that flooded through him was like hope and poison. “You little shit,” he said.

“Uh, you’re welcome, _big brother.”_

“I cannot believe you just did that, I can’t believe you would do something so _stupid--”_

Raven laughed, sharp and hard. “Of course you can! That’s all you think of me, isn’t it? Stupid, naive Raven, can’t even trust her to do what she was literally born to do.”

“You are a _child--”_

“And a mutant! You know damn well the world doesn’t care how old I am, they’ll throw me in a lab just like that little girl we rescued today.”

“But it didn’t have to be you! We had a plan!”

“Oh yeah? And how much longer was that gonna take? How much longer was she going to stay in there, being tortured? You were OK with that, were you?” She snorted. “I’m so done.”

There was another crackling, rustling sound and Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and swore, one long _“fuuuuck”_ hissed out through the fear and anger and regret.

“Hey,” Moira said, more sympathetically than he deserved.

“Why do I always manage to screw up with her?” he asked.

“Because you love her?” she said, a shrug clear in her voice. “She did incredibly well, though, Charles. You should be proud of her.”

“I am,” he said softly. He cleared his throat. “So… will you be coming tomorrow, then?”

“If that’s still OK with you, we’ll come as early as I can get the kids into the car. Nick’s going to be putting out the feelers to make sure he catches any intel about her, smooth over any suspicions, I just… I’m sorry, I would keep her longer, but--”

“No, no, you’re absolutely fine. We’ve got the metallokinetic now - Erik, that’s what he’s calling himself. This is the right place for her. You’ve done more than enough. Thank you, Moira. From the bottom of my heart.”

Charles hung up the phone, his heart beating determination through him once again. His mind, so recently exhausted and wanting nothing more than sleep, buzzed with plans. He sat up and transferred himself back to his chair.


	3. Merciful (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 4 of Few Experience, when Laura arrives at the mansion.

Charles’ mind was still working through the legislation he’d been reading and plotting out when Moira’s car approached the house. He turned away from his desk quickly and guided his chair down the corridor towards--

Ah. Erik. “I’d love to see what your power can do at some point, both of you,” he was saying to Alex and Scott, and beneath that, Charles saw the intent, the escape plan in the making.

His first response was a spike of anger, indignation. What made this man think he knew so much better than anyone else? Charles had a _plan,_ it was long term, and it would eventually lead to freedom for all of them!

But Erik was determined to save all of them. He had been bought and taken into a household, owned by, for all he knew, a human. A human with a lab and scientists. And instead of taking the first opportunity to run, he was trying to work out how to take every single one of the children with him.

Charles pursed his lips as Erik noticed him. He felt Erik’s fear and antagonism spike, almost like a physical blow, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Alex, Erik, I think I’ll need your help,” he said instead, and led them towards the door.

Moira was beside herself, her mind vibrating with tension. _Are you sure about this, Charles?_ she asked in his mind as the children ran towards the living room. _She’ll be safe here, won’t she?_

 _I’ll make it so she is,_ he insisted.

_She’s just so hurt… and so strong!_

_That’s what we’ve got Erik here for. Now… come on, let’s see her._

“She’s asleep. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do…”

Charles ran through possibilities, frowning as he moved towards the car. He needed Erik to understand the dangers, but also to be gentle, and he was starting to see that this might not be quite so much to ask as he had expected. He looked up at him. “You accepted your role as a bodyguard for my children,” he said, holding his gaze, feeling every thought open up in Erik’s mind. “Do you think you can expand that role for one more?”

Anger, indignation, protectiveness, something almost parental, and Charles nodded. It was time to bring another broken child into the mansion.

*Elevator*

Charles gripped the arm rests of his wheelchair under the onslaught of Erik’s emotions. There was so _much,_ so very much of everything in Erik’s mind, it was almost beautiful. He cradled the child and every fibre of his being bent itself around her with an intensity Charles had rarely seen, right from the moment he lifted her in his arms. And now, approaching the lab…

Charles knew what happened in those labs, dear God did he know. He’d spent enough time as a lab rat himself as a child, but the things Erik was remembering… Charles had to shake his head physically to pull himself out from the maelstrom that was spiralling within Erik, dragging him down into the depths of an only half-imagined hell. He reached out, his heart aching for this brave man - nobody deserved this, _nobody_ \- and touched his elbow.

_No! No, don’t fight them, don’t fight, not with the child, what do they want, what must I do, don’t take her, I need to know, must keep her safe, don’t let them hurt her, hurt me, hurt me instead, don’t--_

“Erik,” Charles said firmly, reaching in a tendril of power and grabbing Erik’s conscious mind, pulling it out of the dark ocean of panic. “There,” he said as Erik focused on him. “Better, OK, deep breaths.” He squeezed his elbow rhythmically, trying to encourage him to match his breathing to the sensation and guided him to the sofa as soon as the elevator doors opened. 

He could feel the little girl’s terror and uncertainty, Erik’s panic and barely-there control, and took a breath, centering himself. “Hello there,” he said, wheeling closer, projecting openness and calm. “My name is Charles, I’m going to be looking after you for a little while. I know you’re frightened, and you’ve been hurt, but it’s safe here.”

He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder and paused as Erik’s mind sharpened, hardened, pulling the little girl close. This… was unexpected. Charles had seen how protective Erik could be over children, but for anyone to become so devoted to a child within literal minutes of meeting them… it was a surprise.

It was incredible, actually. For a man who had suffered so much for the large part of his life, Erik’s immediate instinct, overwhelming fear and anger, was to protect. Charles wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information. 

He pulled out a handful of coins. “The man behind you is Erik,” he said to the girl. “He’s a mutant, like you.” He watched Erik lift the coins, twirl them in the air in a wonderful dance of power and control before Erik returned them to his hand. Charles cleared his throat, returned to the task at hand. “This is my friend Moira, who rescued you, and this is my friend Hank. He’s going to help us take a look and see if those claws are hurting you--”

The little girl shrank in on herself, her opening curiosity and hope cast into shadow by memories of pain and fear of tests. Charles cursed himself - ‘look and see if those claws are hurting you,’ no, he hadn’t made it clear that they wanted to _stop_ them hurting her! Erik wrapped his arms around the little girl, hushing her like the very picture of a loving parent. _If I could just talk to her, if I could reassure her, make her feel less alone… I could help her feel safer._

Perfect.

“What’s your name?” Charles asked. The girl held up her wrist, showing the brand ‘X-23’, and both Erik and the girl’s minds went to painful memories, sizzling skin, rage and terror, and Charles sucked in a quick breath. “We can’t call you that,” he said. “Now, Hank and I need to go and sort out a few things, and Moira can tell us what she knows.” He looked at Erik. “And while that happens, I want you and Erik to wait out here and come up with a name - a _suitable_ name. We’ll call you in when we’re ready.”

He turned, pivoting and wheeling out of the room, ushering the others before him. As the door closed behind him he slumped in his chair, driving his fingers through his hair and pulling, trying to drive the images from his mind by pain alone.

Moira covered her face and shuddered with sobs, then pushed herself up, wiping her eyes fiercely. “Jesus Christ, Charles,” she whispered. “What have they done to that little kid?”

“You don’t want to know,” he said, holding her gaze. “God… look, don’t tell Raven but… she was right. We couldn’t have left her in there a moment longer. The best we can do is help her to heal.” He took a deep breath and forced his thoughts to cool, his emotions to curl up tight beneath his ribs until a more acceptable time.

“Thankfully, Erik seems to have made quite a bond with the child already.” He wheeled forward firmly and pulled some blankets out of a wardrobe, passing them to Moira and Hank and throwing one over the electrode array in the corner. 

His heart was starting to beat faster with the fierce joy of success, of an advantage unlooked-for. “I was expecting to use him to control her physically if she became violent, but of course that would have been traumatic for her at the very least. This way is miles better; she’ll be able to learn that she can trust at least one of us quickly, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how much that will hasten her development and recovery.”

He turned to smile gleefully at them, to see them standing still with their blankets in hand. “What?”

They glanced at each other. Moira shook her head. “Nothing, Charles, just… you’re a fucking terrifying man.”

He frowned at her and cocked his head. “Never mind,” she said. “Where do you want me to put this blanket?”


	4. Cruel (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also during chapter 4, towards the end, after Erik settles Laura into her room.

Charles led Erik and the newly-christened Laura along the corridor to her room, gesturing to Erik to take her inside. He took a moment while they disappeared to tip his head back and close his eyes. 

Laura’s assessment had been exhausting, but that would be nothing compared to what was to come, finding a way to stop those hateful blades from hurting her. She may walk with barely a limp, but he could feel the traces of pain long-borne in her mind. It was not painless by any means. She was just used to so much worse. 

He sensed Erik’s mind approaching and sat up, schooling his expression to bland indifference and tucking any hint of tiredness and vulnerability away. He focused on his appearance, and thus missed Erik’s horrifying proposition forming in his mind.

“I want to proxy for Laura,” Erik said, kneeling at Charles’ feet. “For all of the children.”

Charles’ mind blanked and he stared at him.

“It makes sense,” he said as Charles’ brain stuttered in horror. “I can take considerably more pain than them, and they’d take longer to heal - or in Laura’s case, she heals too fast.”

 _Too fast._ Too. Fucking. Fast.

“You can’t teach her, not properly, she’ll be healed in an hour or two. If you hurt me instead, she’ll see the effect of her actions for longer, it’ll teach her. I can still work if I’m injured, I--”

Charles swallowed hard as Erik’s imagination flooded him, made the heat of rage and pain and grief rise in his face. He grit his teeth and wished death on every bastard who’d taught this man that the inevitability of a child’s life was to be hurt or watch a loved one hurt. “Erik,” he said, through his teeth.

“It works,” Erik said, and _oh God,_ his mother, his heartbreak, his guilt and grief and everything shattering, breaking, hurting so fucking much. “It… I’ve seen it work.”

“Go back inside, Erik,” Charles said, his hand on Erik’s shoulder, his eyes burning. “I promise you, I’m not going to hurt you or the children.”

He pulled back, wanting to get away, to hide his face from Erik and weep like a coddled child. He might have said something about coins, might have pushed something towards the man, as if anything could make that _better,_ as if Charles of all people could make _anything_ better. He pushed the wheel rims, his muscles tense across his arms and back, and he wanted to rage, and scream, and burn the world out.

He gathered all the pain and the memories and compressed them, squeezed them down into fuel, into diamonds. Closed his eyes once as he waited for the elevator, allowed himself one moment of weakness. He would burn slow and cold for them. He would spread his tendrils into every reach of this sickening system and he would pull it down so thoroughly they wouldn’t even notice, and they would fucking thank him for it. He dipped his head, held his own gaze in the shining metal of the elevator, and swore it.


	5. Fox (5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during chapter 5, just before and during Erik and Laura's time in the lab with Hank.

Charles sat at his desk and rubbed his temples. It was only 11am and already he was exhausted. 

The day had not exactly started well. It had been quite some time since he’d lost control of his chair like that, let alone been thrown halfway across the room in it, and while he was completely unhurt, he could still feel the ghosts of tension in his shoulders. It had taken all of his willpower to keep his mind from lashing out at his attacker.

And thank God he hadn’t. Erik had been terrified, desperate to protect Laura - he’d thrown himself in front of her, put himself in a position that would have almost certainly brought him punishment had he still been in… one of those places.

His headache pulsed again and he sat back to press against his eyes. The horrors he’d seen in Erik’s memory, how anyone could do such things to another human being, let alone a child! And yet to Erik this had become his normal. This had become the expectation for humans who _owned_ mutants.

‘Humans’ like him.

There was a rap at the door and Charles looked up, a bland, open smile on his face in an instant. “Jimmy!” he said, and his smile grew.

“Hi Charles,” said Jimmy, leaning in. “I was wondering if you’d play chess with me again? We haven’t played in days.”

He was opening his mouth to say yes when Erik’s face resurfaced in his mind’s eye. Erik who believed that Charles was going to hurt Laura, torture her, even. Who believed that Charles was the one who shaved Jimmy’s head and conducted those horrific tests on him, was abusing the Summers boys, had sold his little sister, would sell all of them when he had _tired_ of them.

He swallowed and looked down at the papers on his desk. “I’m sorry, Jimmy,” he said, and he was, he was so sorry. “I’ve really got to get this work done. Another time?”

Jimmy sighed. “OK,” he said. “Another time.”

Charles felt like a monster, watching the hope fall from Jimmy’s face. He wanted nothing more than to give him a hug and sit across from him, playing chess. He remembered days when Jimmy had crawled onto his lap with a book, leaning his stubbly head against Charles’ neck and reading to him, or falling asleep so Charles had to carry him to bed. 

He imagined Erik’s panic and horror if he saw Charles holding an unconscious child, what tortures he would imagine they’d been through, and he turned his attention to his work, blinking hard to concentrate. After all, it hadn’t been a lie. He really did need to get this proposal finished.

It was less than half an hour before he started to notice the rising panic coming from the lab. Hank, Erik and Laura were all apprehensive to begin with, but Erik in particular was suffering, forcing him to walk towards one of his greatest triggers for the sake of someone else. 

He felt Hank move away from Erik and Laura, leaving the two of them alone in the lab, and Erik’s panic began to whirl like a tornado, growing and picking up pace, beginning to blot out all rational thought. Charles shook his head. This wasn’t going to work.

He muttered curses under his breath as he waited for the elevator, for how slow it was when he wanted to be racing down as fast as possible. He reached out with his powers, gently, slowly draping a mental blanket over the memories of both Erik and Laura, allowing them to emerge from the fog of horror.

“I thought you were working today,” Erik said, his voice rough. Laura peered at him from the tight cradle of Erik’s arms.

“I decided looking after my newest arrivals was more important,” Charles said, smiling.

It was Laura he could help the most, holding the emotions and memories at bay, allowing her to look around with interest at what was happening. Preventing her from feeling any pain while Erik, incredible, talented Erik, pulled the metal in a fine wire from her claws.

He didn’t want to take quite so much agency from Erik. He knew the man had lived with his pain and fear and anger so much longer, to have it disappear immediately would be more invasive and terrifying to him than the near-panic he skated at now, by himself. 

Even when he slipped, when the blood and pain in Laura’s feet as she retracted her claws triggered memories Charles could hardly bear, he kept his power away from him. Instead, he held Erik’s elbow, grounding him physically. “Take a breath,” he said urgently. “Focus on my voice. You can do this, Erik, I just need you to find peace. Find that spot between rage and serenity.” If anyone could do it, Charles was sure that this man, this ball of contradictions and trauma, could.

He didn’t disappoint - with nothing more than Charles’ words, no telepathic influence at all, Erik controlled his rising horror and pulled the metal away from Laura’s claws, shrinking them down to just a metal casing. Charles concentrated on holding Laura’s fear at bay, holding her still for Erik to work safely.

Charles would change those fucking laws if it meant he had to mind-control every single one of those bastards in the Senate to do it.


	6. Promise (8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place throughout chapter 8, especially during the horrible dinner where Erik sees Shaw again.

Charles waited for Erik, staring out into the garden with the show collar on his lap. The past few days had been… hopeful. He’d had to deal with Stryker, of course, and hated how much that bastard still traumatised Jimmy. Watching Erik hold him was heartbreaking, wanting to gather him up into his own arms and comfort him, promise he’d never let Stryker get his hands on any of them, never! He was hopeful that Stryker’s mind had been turned away from him for at least a little longer. He still needed the man, distasteful as he was. As much as he wanted to tear out his brain stem and leave him dribbling.

And then there was Bobby, safe from his despicable parents, his self-esteem hopefully not so damaged that he couldn’t move on to somewhere better. It made his position worthwhile. It made handing over money, pretending to be like _them,_ something that Charles could actually live with. He would do what needed to be done, because he was powerful in so many more ways than most.

He felt Erik’s mind move towards him, the resentment and the seething fear that bubbled beneath it. He closed his eyes and sighed as the soft, sneaky little voice rose in the back of his mind. _Why don’t you just tell him?_

Tell Erik. It was so very tempting. He had never had a choice with the others - Hank had known him too long, and if he hadn’t told Alex, he would have allowed himself to go off like a bomb, taking all of them out. But Erik… he was different. He was just as determined as Charles to keep those children safe, _all_ of them, and he would be a powerful ally. He might even stop hating Charles quite so much.

And there, that was why he couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t trust that he was overlooking the negatives in favour of something so naive as wanting to be _liked._ What Erik thought of Charles was utterly immaterial. What mattered was the plan, and while the long term lay open, with the possibility of Erik proving himself trustworthy enough for Charles’ secret, the short term wasn’t an option. The variables were too great.

“Come in,” Charles called, and Erik entered.

*Dinner*

The evening was disgusting, of course. Charles felt exhausted just at the entrance of the mansion, his telepathy ringing with Erik’s renewed loathing as well as the despair, anger, grief of the mutants within. He was so tempted to put up his shields, keep just one part of his mind unsullied by the thoughts here, but he couldn’t risk missing some vital piece of information he could use to push through the next piece of legislation, or pick out the next mutant who needed to be, or could be, saved.

Erik ground his teeth almost audibly behind Charles, his fingers clenched around the handles of Charles’ chair. He was tempted to mutter to Erik that if he felt like a pet dog, Charles himself felt like an infant, pushed around by a nursemaid. He laced his fingers in his lap to stop them twitching towards the wheel rims even as Erik breathed through his own anger. “Well done,” he murmured. “Would you get me a glass?”

 _Charles,_ came the voice almost the moment Erik had left, and Charles almost got whiplash looking around for his sister.

_Raven!_

“Hello, Charles,” she said, and no matter how stern she looked, Charles couldn’t help smiling at her, relief flooding every atom of his body to see his little sister alive and well.

“Raven! It’s so good to see you--”

“Is it, really?”

He took her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you how proud of you I was rather than shouting at you.”

She softened slightly. “Yes, you should have.”

 _I hope she hasn’t been too grumpy, Irene,_ Charles said, keeping his eyes on Raven so as not to draw attention. Mutants were rarely spoken to directly, but he saw Irene’s lip twitch up on one side ever so slightly.

_It’s good to see you again, Charles. Raven will catch up soon enough - you know she’ll always forgive you._

He laughed softly and pretended that he did. _Thank you for your help with Laura. Raven was right not to leave her any longer. And Erik’s been fantastic with her. With all of the children._

“Ha,” Raven said aloud. “You should learn to trust me more, Charles.”

He smirked at her. “And you should learn to plan, Miss Darkholme.”

“Speaking of which,” she said, dropping her voice. “I’ve copied all the files I could find, anything mentioning child experimentation. It’s big, Charles.” She held his gaze. “It’s worse than we thought.”

He took the flash drive and bit his lip. “Well, that gives us an idea of scale, and with your work on the Stryker lab…” He smiled up at her. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake he did over the phone. “You’re doing so well.”

Erik returned, his misery surely clear even without telepathy. Charles smiled at him, wished he could include him in the same way. “Oh, good, you’re back,” he said weakly. “Excellent. This is Miss Darkholme and her mutant, Irene.”

“Hello,” said Raven, smiling at him. “Charles has just been telling me how you’ve been helping with his children.”

“Erik’s been doing well,” Charles nodded, and that’s when it went to shit. Irene dropped her glass, her vision overwhelming her, buffeting Charles’ shields. Erik’s fear and determination to _protect_ went into overdrive once more and he dropped to his knees, scrambling for the glass, deaf to Charles and Raven’s words. It all happened so fast.

“Little Max Eisenhardt…”

Charles was almost dragged under the ocean of panic. He had thought Erik had been afraid before, but that was almost laughable now. The memories, blood-drenched, soaked every brainwave. To him Charles had never existed. He was back there, the property of that man, ready to be abused and tortured. 

Taking control of Erik’s mind was like swimming upstream in a waterfall, and Charles thought the whole room must be able to see him struggling, see the effort he was making to use his power. They would see, and they would collar him like he collared the others (for their safety! Only for the lie, for their safety), the children taken away and given to monsters like this.

That was the only thing holding Charles together, a scramble of lies and fakery and cowardice. He knew he would be executed almost immediately, not just for pretending to be such a powerful human. But the children! He couldn’t let that happen.

He held his chin up and observed Shaw dispassionately, his fear and disgust locked up in one side of his mind while the other took Erik’s body from him, holding him like a puppet. And he hated himself as Erik hated him. Holding him still while he considered pushing him down the stairs? That was a bit of petty revenge. But this? He was trapping a traumatised man in front of the monster, dangling him out there like a sacrifice.

 _Breathe, Erik,_ he begged, threaded his fingers through Erik’s curls and guided him to hide his face. Some pittance of comfort. _Please, calm your mind._

The evening was the most horrific thing Charles had been responsible for, even counting the murder of his step-family. He moved Erik, forcing him to nod, bending joints and using muscles against Erik’s every wish, holding the roiling of his stomach still while it begged to purge itself. 

“You haven’t told him?” Raven hissed viciously as she sat next to him at dinner.

“Raven--”

“You’re a fucking piece of work, Charles. What makes you so special? Thinking you know what’s best for everyone?” She smiled serenely at a senator across the table until his gaze skimmed over them. She leaned closer and held Charles’ gaze. “What makes you think you’re better than any of those monsters?”

“I don’t,” Charles whispered, but she’d turned away from him.


	7. Ought (9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik's conversation after the traumatic dinner. The dialogue is mostly taken from FlightInFlame's chapter 9!

“Did you know?” Erik asked. “That Schmidt would be there? When you… when you asked me to go, did you already know that he’d be there?”

“No,” said Charles, and he wanted so desperately to be able to show the truth of it. “I checked the guest list… I wanted to avoid this exact situation. If I had known he was coming I could have taken Bobby instead.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Erik, that heartbreaking man, was horrified. “No,” he said. “You can’t!”

“Erik--”

“No! If you let Schmidt near the children, I will find a way of making you pay.”

Charles bit his lip to force the tears down. He could hear all of Erik’s terror, not for what he thought Charles would do to him but because of what he thought would happen to the children if they were anywhere near Schmidt, but they _wouldn’t,_ he wanted to show him, he wouldn’t let that happen! He would never let that happen!

“Erik--”

Leave me alone, Charles,” he said, the force of his hatred almost physical. “This has all been some sick game to you, hasn’t it? Right from the start you’ve been in my head, watching and recording and learning all my mistakes and dreams and you… you bastard, you… you let me think I was safe and--” He trembled under the weight of his exhaustion and grief that Charles had caused. “What do you want?” he begged. “Because, look, I’ve already offered you everything. The kids… the kids deserve better. Bobby would hate it there and you--”

“He’d not be traumatised the way--”

“I don’t want him traumatised in any way, Charles! You are sending all these signals and it’s not… it’s not _fair._ Because we need to know how the game works and you won’t tell us and it’s… it’s fucking _cruel,_ Charles. You treat us like we’re people and you keep us collared, you get the kids to learn but you never allow them outside, it’s… I can’t live like this! At least Schmidt let me know what the fucking rules are! I can’t… I never know when I’m going to do something wrong and set you off and then… then you hide this. How am I meant to… I can’t…”

Erik sobbed in front of him, all the metal in the room shaking, his grief and fear and every traumatised, hurt inch of him that Charles had made so much worse and he _hated_ himself, he hated what he’d done, what had been done, what he would do all over again if he had to. He reached out, but of course Erik pulled away. Though it terrified him.

“I can’t… I need to know what’s happening,” Erik begged. “I need to know where your fucking rules are, Charles. I have to… you lied. You let me think I was… you acted like you were human and all this time, you’ve know what I’ve thought and I… I can’t live like this!”

Charles closed his eyes, tears running down his face freely, just for a moment. He turned his face and wiped them away, then took a long breath, forcing everything down. For him to be upset by this… it was right. 

“Erik,” he said, when he thought his voice was steady. When he thought perhaps his emotions wouldn’t betray him and show themselves when he didn’t deserve ANY of them. Erik looked up and expected Schmidt, and one last piece of Charles’ soul died screaming. “I have a few things I need to sort out. I want you to rest now. We will speak after breakfast.”

Erik stumbled from the room and Charles remained sitting, unmoving, staring into space for a moment before it overwhelmed him and he cried, cried so hard he couldn’t breathe, so hard his chest ached with it and he wrapped his arms around his head to hold himself together, rocking desperately.

And then he felt the wave of unbearable pain from Erik as he, too, crawled into a foetal position somewhere and cried. Charles struggled to right himself, wiping tears away from his cheeks even as more fell, as his breath shuddered uncontrollably. 

_Alex?_ he called, keeping his mental voice perfectly even and calm. He bit down hard on his lip to control his shields.

 _Yeah?_ Alex replied. _What’s up? Heard you guys get back._

_Do you think you could check on Erik please? He’s out front._

_Sure, everything OK?_

Charles hesitated. He swallowed once, twice. _I hurt him,_ he blurted, and screwed up his face to try and wrest control of himself once more. 

_You--_

_It was unavoidable,_ he said. His voice sounded steady again, but that wasn’t… it wasn’t _right,_ and Charles didn’t know how to make any of this _right._

_What happened, Charles?_

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Perhaps the best way to regain control was to relinquish some. _The dinner was a disaster, he admitted. I had to invade Erik’s mind, I just… It was the only way._

_...Wow._

He huffed a laugh. Alex had always had a talent for understatement. _I’ll apologise to him tomorrow, but right now… I think he needs me far away from him, but I don’t want to leave him alone, would you…?_

_Sure, _Alex said, and Charles watched sparks of inspiration, simple and direct, fractal off from the word. _I’ll make sure he’s safe.___

___Thank you, Alex._ _ _

__He felt the awareness of Alex’s mind move through the sleeping mansion towards the epicenter of grief and pain that was Erik. He laid his head in his hands, his shoulders bowed over, wanting nothing more than to disappear._ _

__The black fog in the back of his mind sent out its tendrils, creeping through his mind insidiously. Would it be so bad if he gave up? Wouldn’t it be so much better if this all _stopped,_ if he could take himself away from the constant scheming and manipulation, and being so fucking _apart._ Raven always said he thought himself above the rest but it wasn’t so much that he thought he was better than everyone. It was that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was nobody he could tell. _ _

__Who was there? Raven was a child, he was damned if he was going to ask a seventeen year old girl to put herself in danger, no matter how many times she insisted on doing so herself. Hank was young and afraid and while he was older than Raven, Charles almost felt more paternal over him than over his little sister. Alex? He wasn’t much more than a child either, and he’d had nothing but torture throughout his young life. It was his turn to be protected. And Moira and Nick, though they were incredible allies and were never less than supportive, he knew that they feared him. And he wouldn’t give them any more reason to do so than he had to. He couldn’t. The lives of these children depended on him remaining… above. Apart._ _

__Alone._ _

__The exhaustion seemed to seep through every muscle of his body, draining him. The scaffolding on which he built his bloody-minded plots and schemes seemed to have been taken out from under his feet, leaving him an empty husk. He wanted it to _end._ He wanted none of this._ _

__But if it ended for him, then it was certain to continue for the others. For Erik, Alex and Raven. For Hank if he was ever discovered. For the children. The thought of Jimmy, taken back by Stryker and used to torment other mutants, tortured in who knew what ways those bastards could devise… he could never let that happen._ _

__And anyway, Erik deserved an apology. Charles was terrible at those. He sighed and sat up, leaning his elbows on his desk, his forehead in his hands. He was definitely going to have to work this out carefully._ _

__He pulled his notebook towards him and began to write._ _


	8. Vengeance (11&12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is during and immediately after Shaw's threat to kill Charles at the end of chapter 11

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

That was the thought that sang underneath all of Charles’ horror and fear and regret. Even as he stretched out with all of his power, reaching out to embrace Raven’s mind so far away.

“You shouldn’t have come here to threaten me, Charles,” said Shaw. Charles stared up at him, refusing to show any of the wild panic that clawed ineffectual fingernails against that helmet.

How could he have been so stupid? How many times had Raven warned him that he was dangerously arrogant, that he didn’t actually know everything, he couldn’t control everything. 

“Now, I don’t know if my suspicions are correct, but it seems to me from what I’ve heard you’ve got a telepath working for you.”

 _Raven,_ he called, and even he could hear the despair. _Raven, I’m so sorry._

_Charles? Charles, what’s wrong? Oh my God, what is it?_

_Listen to me, please - you’ve got to get Erik out of here._

_What are you talking about?_

_There’s no time but… Raven, I love you so much. I am so proud of you, all the time. I should have told you every day._

Charles retreated from her mind, leaving the sensation of a tight hug, a kiss, even as she screamed and raged at him in panic.

“Max will be home where he belongs,” Shaw said. 

How could he? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had promised Erik. He had _sworn_ to his safety, and Erik, brave, wonderful Erik, had followed him into the jaws of hell. And Charles was going to leave him here. 

Charles had never felt more powerless in his life.

He closed his eyes as Shaw lowered the barrel of the gun, pointed it between his eyes and pulled the trigger. He was only thankful that Hank and Alex had an emergency plan. The children would be safe, hidden and forever on the run. The boys knew what to do. But Erik…

It had been a week since Erik had - unbelievably - forgiven him. And Charles’ arrogance was going to cost Erik a fate worse than death.

The bullet never hit.

Charles could barely breathe as Erik stared at the crumpled helmet, the broken body that once meant a monster lived. He spoke on autopilot as his heart hammered within his chest, held Erik, incredible, impossible Erik as he sobbed, as his pain washed over Charles’ senses in a never-ending wave. Had Charles not been completely shocked senseless he would have cried too, but he couldn’t. His face was dry, his mind only now catching up with the threat now spinning with plans and machinations and he was going to live. 

He was going to _live._ Erik wasn’t going to be tortured for the rest of his life, the children were safe from this vile creature, _everyone_ was safe from him. 

_I won’t leave you here,_ he swore to Erik once more, his blood now a fuel for the plans he had thought, for a moment, that he was never going to bring to fruition.

He was going to keep them safe. All of them.

*Home*

It wasn’t until later that night, back at the mansion with their three new guests settled and Raven’s tears drying on his shirt that Charles’ emotions caught up with him. 

It started with the ice in his whisky singing against the glass. Charles looked down almost dispassionately, and tears fell from his eyes almost instantly. 

It was like being punched in the chest. Charles gasped and put the glass down lest his shaking hands become completely nerveless. He covered his eyes and wept, shoulders jerking under the force of them.

He was alive. Erik was safe. He was going to see Raven and Jimmy and Scott and Anne-Marie grow up and be _safe_ as they always should have been. He was alive.

He was so fucking unbelievably lucky, and he had no idea if he deserved this. 

Finally, with some gasping gulps and almost animalistic sobbing noises, he got himself back under control. He had to make this worth while. He had to make this act _happen,_ had to make sure the children survived even if someone else held a gun to his head and succeeded, and he had to do it now. 

Once again his blood felt like fuel ignited, and he rolled himself to his study, pushing through paperwork with a still-trembling hand. He was alive, and he was going to make the most of it.


	9. Mask (13)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles' mask starts to crack just a little, midway through chapter 13, after Worthington Sr has been to visit.

Charles watched Worthington leave from the window of his office, the car becoming a distant glimmer down the drive. He felt sick, and then he felt frustrated with himself.

Why was he surprised? He had grown up in this society after all, where the only acceptable child was a perfect child, and even then, they’d best stay out of the way. Charles had learned so very young to appear perfect, as soon as he could understand the thoughts that bombarded him at every moment from his so-called caregivers, and even then it hadn’t been enough.

He pressed hard on his temples, trying to shut the mental gates on the howling vortex of fear and rage and pain Worthington’s genteel disdain had opened in him. What was wrong with him? Why now, why after everything else, everyone else? Why was _this_ the trigger setting off these traps? 

He pushed himself towards the chessboard, trying to concentrate on something else, forcing pleasant memories up instead - games with Jimmy, teaching Erik - but nothing was enough.

He saw his mother’s vague distaste, oh, how she’d have got along with Worthington. He couldn’t remember if they’d ever met when she was still alive. Yes, they had. Worthington had been at her funeral.

The funeral, God. He’d been so numb, so uncertain trapped between Raven’s confusion and Kurt and Cain’s grim satisfaction and _nobody’s_ grief. He liked to think… maybe he’d have noticed if they’d tried any other day but they were so _greedy._ Couldn’t stand to wait one more day. 

He was caught in the spiral now, pulled under by waves of it. How they’d caught him unawares, Cain body-checking him _just_ that bit too close to the banisters. How long the fall seemed to be. And then… then knowing that Raven was next, just _knowing._ The feeling of bone crushed pain, of terror-fear-rage, of reaching out with uncontrollable bursts of power and ripping their every nerve apart even as Raven threw punches at men twice her size.

That was the first day he’d known he could be so cold. That was the day Raven started to pull away, little by little. He wouldn’t let her pull away completely. It wasn’t safe, he insisted. They had to _act._ The bodies must be buried. Charles couldn’t do it physically, and he wouldn’t put Raven’s mind through it, but her body, she was so strong after all… maybe she knew what he’d done the next day, but she would never see it, at least. 

And then for years, Raven playing Kurt Marko, Charles nudging belief into place until it was safe enough to stage a natural death. He felt sick. He gagged on the memories, and wasn’t sure which of them he hated the most, the Markos or himself.

He was shaking and sweat-chilled now, even as he dragged himself from the trenches in his mind. He desperately craved a drink, but images of his mother bubbled out from the door he was trying to force shut again. 

He stared at the chessboard, the squares blurring together. He groaned in frustration. He would be useless tonight, yet he knew he’d never manage to sleep now. He was tempted to ask Erik for a game of chess, but Erik wouldn’t be pleased if Charles gave him too easy a game just because he wanted the company.

But perhaps… 

He thought about working with Erik to take down Shaw, how he’d never felt like he had an equal at his side until long nights of strategising over chess. How he’d always felt this need to protect his partners - Raven, Irene and Alex were all so young, and while Hank was close to Charles in age, he had a certain childlike vulnerability about him that Charles was loath to destroy.

Erik, on the other hand, could never be described as naive. There was nothing Erik wouldn’t do to protect those he loved, and although his methods were very different to Charles’, he felt something of a kinship with the man.

Charles sighed. That was a complete lie. He knew all too well that he was falling for Erik. That mind, the passion, the absolute willingness to sacrifice himself for the children… it was inappropriate at the very least. For a human to have a relationship with someone he owned, that was morally reprehensible!

Charles wasn’t human, though. And he wasn’t planning to get into a relationship with Erik - as if Erik would be interested in that! But right now… he was weak, and exhausted, and just wanted to feel as though he wasn’t alone. Even a general in battle had other generals by his side.

 _Erik?_ he called mentally, unable to keep his voice steady. _Are you able to come here for a little while?_


	10. Means (14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the beginning of chapter 14, just after the kiss. I haven't included the whole conversation because FlightInFlame wrote it so beautifully in the original! I just wanted to add Charles' angsty angsting!

And then there was the bill going through. A watch torn apart like a supernova. There was a blue blanket wrapped around him as he slept. Warm waves of fondness that made Charles feel like a plant reaching for the sun.

A kiss.

Charles touched his lips and closed his eyes, bent over at the waist. How could he? How could he let this happen, put Erik in this position, how could he abuse his power again… oh god, what if it was him? What if he’d somehow subconsciously influenced Erik, pulling him towards him, _making_ him think he wanted to—

_Charles? I’m on my way. We need to talk._

Charles could feel his heart in his throat. Erik would surely be horrified, surely want to leave. And he wouldn’t ask, because Erik was still so incredibly traumatised! How _could_ he? How could he do this to Erik?

He transferred himself onto his bed to wait. It felt like a concession, putting himself at a disadvantage, immobile while Erik was free to move.

Well. Ignoring Charles’ telepathy. Which he mustn’t! He must never forget how much power he held over everyone, how could he—

There was a knock, and Charles startled. “Come in.”

Erik entered, and Charles kept his eyes averted, on his legs stretched out before him. He wanted to pretend nothing had happened, selfishly pretend it could all go back to how it had been.

And then Erik sat by him. Took his hand between his own, and Charles could see his hope there, this bright spot when he looked at Charles, and oh, how he longed for Erik to always look at him, always be his mirror so he might see himself as something _good._

“At that moment,” Erik said, holding Charles’ gaze with the full force of his beautiful sincerity and passion. “I wanted to kiss you, and I wanted to kiss you for... for reasons that had nothing to do with the children, or the fact this is your house.”

Erik pushed it towards him, _wanting_ him to know his mind. He invited Charles in to believe him, and Charles found his throat closing up with the hope and the desperate want - not for anything more than the kiss he’d already had, but for this man to stand by his side and be his.


	11. Judge (17)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place pretty much any time in the last few chapters, actually! Charles finally begins to realise that he's not alone anymore.

Jimmy bit his lip, then pushed the bishop forward, taking Charles’ rook. He glanced up at Charles, a disbelieving smile growing over his face. “I’ve got four of your pieces already!”

Charles grinned at him. “You certainly do. I see you’ve been practicing with Erik.”

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically and Charles felt the familiar glow beneath his ribs when he saw the little boy happy and looking forward to the future. “Let’s pack away, now, it’s nearly time for bed. We can pick this back up tomorrow if you like?”

“Really?” Jimmy asked, his eyes shining. “I thought…” he shook his head, then launched himself at Charles, squeezing him tight around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Charles hugged him back and stroked the soft hair growing over his skull. “Goodnight, Jimmy,” he said softly. 

“Night, Charles. See you tomorrow!” He rushed off, waving at Erik as they passed each other in the doorway.

Erik cocked his head and smiled. “I see you’ve started playing chess with Jimmy again - he was miserable about it when you were ignoring him.”

Charles pouted. “I was never ignoring him! I just… I didn’t think you’d approve, before you knew what was going on. I didn’t want to make things worse.” Not that that would have been possible, in hindsight.

Erik laughed and began to set the chessboard up again. “Well, there’s no need for that now.” He held Charles gaze. “I trust you.”

Charles smiled and felt his cheeks flush with pleasure. This was all so new, this happiness. He was beginning to feel like he had a family at last. If only…

“What is it?” Erik asked gently.

“It’s nothing serious,” Charles said, shaking his head. “I just wish that I could find a family for Jimmy. He’s such a kind, generous boy, he deserves to be happy, to have people that _love_ him for who he is, and I just… I don’t think it’s possible, not with Stryker on his tail all the time.”

Erik stared at him, frowning. “What?” said Charles.

“Do you really not see?”

“See what?”

Erik laughed once, his incredulity brushing over Charles in gentle, fond waves. _“You_ are his family, Charles.”

Charles stared at him. Erik leaned forwards. “You love him - you love all of them, but Jimmy is to you what Laura is to me - he’s _yours._ He’s not just another student in your school. He’s your own. Everyone sees it.”

“I… what?”

Erik stood and walked over to him, sitting on his lap and kissing him gently as his mind stuttered, suppressing the hope that was too much to take away. “He already has a family who loves him for who he is. He’s got you.”

“But I’m not enough,” Charles said, ashamed to hear his voice coming out as a whisper through his tight throat. “I’m… I’m not loving! I can’t be, he deserves better.”

Erik kissed him and brushed the tears off his cheeks. “Not loving! You are a fool.” A tiny spike of fear rose in Erik, his trauma still telling him he couldn’t dare say such a thing, but it submerged under care and affection. “You are so much more than you know.”

Charles wrapped his arms around Erik’s waist and pressed his face into his shoulder. For a moment he tried to force the tears back, stay strong, but this was Erik, and Erik was by his side. Erik was his equal, the only one he could rely on to face forward together and defend those who needed them to be strong. Their school. Their people.

Their family.


End file.
